The Gas Station
by fairfarrenlovelylydia
Summary: Slightly AU/Pre Apocalyptic. Carol is working at a gas station when two brothers walk in. One leaves her with friendly advice. Caryl. First Walking Dead fict. R&R. Previously posted on my tumblr.


**A/N: Thanks to my beta acklesbooty over at .com! it would not have been this polished without her! **

Carol shivered at the lick of breeze that fluttered down from the air conditioner to cool her neck, looking out the window to where waves of heat rose from the highway. She was glad to be inside, an escape from the oppressive humidity. It was better to be here anyway. Home was not somewhere she wanted to live but she had to for the sake of Sophia, her beautiful little girl. Carol smiled as she imagined Sophia sitting at a desk in school learning. She hoped that she wouldn't receive another call from the school nurse filled with concern that afternoon. Ed had gone off the deep end last night because of the alcohol and, well, the beating was evident on both Sophia's and Carol's bodies.

Carol pushed the thought from her mind as she heard the roar of motorcycles outside the window. Though the glass dulled the noise, the choppy kick of the engines were telltale signs of riders who meant trouble. The engines were quickly killed and after a moment she heard the familiar chime of the bell above the door, alerting her of customers. She raised her chin in order to look over the shelves, her shorter frame keeping her eye level below the top shelf. From what she could gather it was two men coming in from the heat. One was talking rather loudly, a rasp to his voice as he drawled to the man behind him. Carol turned to look outside and squinted as the chrome of one of the bikes echoed sunrays into her eyes through the window. Yep. These boys meant business.

Carol turned and began to straighten up the various keychain lighters and gum packs lined up on the counter beside the register. It gave her hands a chance to mask their shaking. Men would always beat her down; if these boys wanted something, they could easily get it from her. Then Ed would be angry that she had lost her job on account of two 'hillbillies'; he'd yell and remind her of how dreadfully useless she was. Carol felt a tear well in her right eye, the left quickly following, and she used her fingertips to brush them away. She tried to hold back a sniff. That would only alert these two to the fact that she was falling apart- and they hadn't even asked her for the cash.

"I tell ya Daryl," One of the men walked by the register counter with the handle of a six pack gripped between his dirty fingers. "It's a crime how expensive good booze like this is."

Carol glanced over through the corner of her eye and watched the man with the liquor. He was stocky but tall, she could tell that he was a powerful force. His hair was cropped close to his head, dark but receding on his sunburn forehead. He looked like he had been in the woods for several days; perhaps the two had been out camping. The dark night skies had been beautiful, filled with stars. She had watched them the night before when she had run outside, away from Ed and his alcohol and his screaming. Sophia was spending the night at a friend's house, she was safe. So Carol decided to leave, paying dearly for it later.

Carol blinked back the memory of pain and back to the small chapstick stand, putting the colors in perfect rows. She glanced up quickly, to see how the other one responded. But he didn't. He was in the snack aisle, looking at beef jerky. As she gazed at him, he looked her way. His light eyes locked with hers and she felt ashamed for trying to look now; quickly returning her gaze to the chapstick tubes in front of her. She didn't want them to assume she was afraid of them; she resented her own tendency to be afraid of them. Carol shivered again, not because of the air conditioning this time but because of the fear that was creeping into her, making her muscles rigid. She forced herself to keep staring down at the counter, pretending that she was interested in something on the register paper. She did not dare to glance up again, what if he was still looking? How was she supposed to have this job, show Ed that she was capable, if she was scared of every other man that came into the store?

She jumped when the taller one slammed the six pack with force on the counter; a pack of hotdogs and some fishing wire joined the cardboard box. "Problem, ma'am?"

"No." Carly shook her head. "Just been quiet in here, that's all."

"It is. Nice'n cool too. Remindin' me that hell is just outside those doors." He smiled slightly at her, his voice was raspier now. Carol nodded her head, at a loss for words. She did not like the feeling of power that he exuded; it frightened her. He was dangerous.

"I-I-I have to card you," Carol nodded her chin toward the alcohol. The man let out a laugh.

"Glad to know I look so young." He laughed. "This lady here must think I'm twelve, Daryl."

"Just state law." She replied. The man shook his head and Carol dared to look up at him. He had several days of facial hair growing, they must have been moving for a couple days without much rest. His blue eyes were lined with exhaustion. They were also hardened by coldness and Carol looked down again. She focused instead on an oil stain on his white t shirt that vaguely resembled a handprint. Must have been fixing his bike.

"Here- see, I'm good and over twenty one." Carol glanced at the motorcycle license, reading the name. _Merle Dixon_. So _these _were the notorious Dixon boys. She had only heard rumors of them, stories of the outer parts. Renegade boys raised by the woods. She thought that they were just country legend. _But then again, maybe they just are._

"I see," Carol replied, and turned to the cash register to ring up his purchases.

"I also need thirty in gas," He replied and Carol punched the numbers in sloppily, barely hitting the three key. She quickly told him his total and he handed over a large bill. Carol looked at it, wanting desperately to look up at him and wonder where the hell a guy like him could have this much money. That was wrong on her part; she didn't know this Merle any more than he knew her. She brushed back the thoughts and took the appropriate change, handing it over.

"You have a good day, ma'am," Merle nodded. "Hurry up, Daryl, or I'm leavin' your ass here."

Carol glanced up and caught sight of the other brother. He didn't have anything in his hands but he was making his way to the counter. He had not said a word once, but his blue eyes were speaking volumes about how he wanted to get out of here as much as Merle was.

He had a softer face than Merle, but she could see that the two were clearly related. His blue eyes were just as bright as Merle's, but seemed kinder. His brown hair was longer and shaggier, his facial hair more dark and long. Carol found him extremely handsome, she had to look away in order to keep from revealing that she was looking him over. He was the type of boy that her momma would have fainted to see her come home with. Not that momma would be very happy with Ed, either, but at least the Peletier boys _looked _like suburban folk; even if the Peletier temperament was as bad as some of the lower income families that her mother associated with being abusive. Daryl looked like he had some trouble back when he was young, but he didn't seem like a woman beater.

"Do you need anything?" Carol found herself more comfortable around him. He didn't leak the powerful air that Merle had, he wasn't as threatening. Maybe he just didn't need to be.

"Yeah, some Marlboros," He said, his voice wasn't raspy but the drawl was just as strong. "Are these good lighters?" He asked as he fingered the body of one of the cheap lighters on the counter.

Carol let out a laugh that surprised even her, shaking her head. "Of course they do, or I wouldn't be sellin' 'em."

Daryl looked up at her with a blush in his cheeks and Carol felt bad for embarrassing him. "I'll get your cigarettes," She turned to the glass case behind her and fumbled with the key in the lock. She succeeded in turning it and slide back the door to grab the white and red box. The smell of tobacco that permeated this case always brought her back to the smell of her daddy. She paused for a moment longer, just as she always did, before handing the box over to Daryl.

"Anything else?" She asked.

Daryl looked at a lighter before finally removing it from the hook and slamming it on the counter. Carol reached out to take it and that's when her shirt sleeve slid up her forearm. She always told people she wore three quarter lengths inside because it was chilly with the air conditioning, which wasn't entirely untrue; it just wasn't the exact motive.

The shirt slid up to reveal a nasty burn that she had gotten when Ed pushed her against the stove. Daryl looked up and he could see her blue eyes looking at the healing bruises on her cheek. Then his eyes met hers and the burning shame that she had felt returned. She looked away and violently ripped her shirt sleeve down. "That'll be four dollars even." She said after frantically pushing the register buttons.

Daryl reached into the back pocket of his black jeans to retrieve his wallet. Carol looked at his ratty, faded plaid cutoff underneath his leather vest and smiled faintly, forgiving him for the stare that he had given her earlier. He was definitely the type of boy she would have run off with fifteen years ago. _Why the hell wasn't he there? _

"You ain't gonna card me?" He asked with a smile. Carol returned the gesture and shook her head.

"I think you can get away with smokin' around here even at age twelve," She winked as she took his five dollar bill.

"Keep the change," He said as he grabbed the lighter and cigarette box in his fist and shoved it roughly into the pocket of his vest.

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"Yeah, you'll need it when you leave that bastard." He replied.

"Take care, and stay safe out there." Carol replied.

"You too," He replied as he pushed his arm against the door. "Stay safe."

* * *

The world had gone to hell since that moment and the two brothers wouldn't cross her mind until three and a half years later. But she would hear those same words uttered by the same man, though she would have forgotten this experience. She would finally reply to him then, better than she had in the store, anyways. She smiled warmly at him, _flirted _with him when she answered:

"Nine lives."


End file.
